


Hallmark Christmas Special

by KathSilver



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Every Christmas Trope you can imagine, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, get your Hallmark Bingo cards out folks, no really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28236609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathSilver/pseuds/KathSilver
Summary: In which Newt actively fights becoming the male lead in a Hallmark Special as hard as he can.Enter: Thomas
Relationships: Brenda/Minho (Maze Runner), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32
Collections: Maze Runner Secret Santa 2020





	Hallmark Christmas Special

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Des,
> 
> Oh, oh Des THANK YOU. Thank you for this gift of prompts falling into my lap. Truly, when I saw it I was OVERJOYED! Soulmates?? SOULMATES?! Ahh, I truly hope you enjoy this fic as much as I've enjoyed creating it. You keep the discord alive with your contributions and questions and you're always there for anyone who needs a friend to talk to. Merry Christmas, and enjoy this ridiculous piece of work.
> 
> ~~Santa

“No.”

“What? Seriously!”

“Apologies. Would ‘fuck, no’ be more sufficient?”

The rage he could see burning under Brenda’s skin was worth it, almost, for the bruise that would no doubt shine proudly against Newt’s shoulder in the morning.

“What was even the point of coming out tonight if you weren’t going to go ice skating?” Brenda demanded; the cross of her arms added to the adorable pout that took over her features.

“If I remember correctly, and it’s been a few hours, so I might have it wrong, you and Minho barged into my flat and sat on me until I agreed to come. Then, in case I changed my mind, you summoned Gally to put me over his shoulder and _drag me here_.”

“But—”

“Nope,” Newt interrupted. “Too dangerous of an opening; I’m pants at it.”

Brenda stared blankly at him before turned to Minho, “Make him make sense, please. I can’t with this.”

Minho sighed and reached out to twine his green striped hand with Brenda’s matching one, and Newt fought against the longing he felt at the sight. Brenda had been on the outskirts of their friend group since they were children—the cousin of one of their friends that had moved away—so it wasn’t until about nine months ago that she’d suddenly become a permanent fixture for them all.

The appearance of a soul mark tended to have that effect.

“Newt here, with those pale and unmarked hands of his, refuses to partake in any events that might lead to him living the life of a Hallmark movie,” Minho explained. Gally snorted behind them, and Newt walked forward, steadfast, towards the outdoor ice rink the Glade made up every year.

“A Hallmark movie.” Newt felt her gaze bore into the side of his skull. “What does that even _mean_?”

“Y’know,” Minho waved vaguely with his free hand. “Having a meet-cute with some city person coming home for the holidays, they hate Christmas or have bigger city priorities, Newt tries to show them the real meaning of Christmas, insert snow montage here, and at the end of it after some dramatic angst, city person decides the small-town life is better and OH BY THE WAY, they’re soulmates.”

It took a moment for Brenda to realize that she was the only one laughing, and the Minho was not—in fact—kidding.

“You’re joking.”

“He’s not,” Gally said. “ ’Cept it’s all dumb anyway, ‘cuz those movies are all based around the small-town guy loving Christmas, and Newt fucking _hates_ it.”

“I don’t hate Christmas, mate; you know that. I hate the hype around it and the pressure for everyone to exchange gifts and then find their bleedin’ soulmates,” Newt explained.

No one knew how the system worked or when it started. As far back as history went, soulmates existed, and they were always found the same way—the giving of a gift. If you give a gift to your soulmate, then a colored band appears on the fourth finger of your left hand, and for some people, that was the end of it—a one-sided bond, doomed to have a single ring for all of eternity. For everyone with a reciprocated bond (and these were far more usual), the moment the soulmate _returned_ a gift, a colored band appeared on every single finger of both hands, and that’s it.

You’re done.

Bonded for all of time, for better or for worse.

There were several schools of study on the process and the colors and whether specific colors lent themselves to more successful bonds, etc., etc.

All of this to say that Christmas was _hell_ if you were unbonded and that the common dream of having a magical and romantic Bonding Christmas was something Newt went out of his way to avoid.

Frypan said that made him a hipster, Ben said it made him a grinch, and Minho never said a word but drank considerably more tequila as soon as the carols started playing on the radio each year.

“I still don’t see what this has to do with ice skating,” Brenda said.

They had finally come up to the rink, and the sound of laugher and bells matched perfectly with the fairy lights strung from every place that could bear their weight. The rink itself was near the center of the Glade (what everyone called the main town square) and in perfect view of the towering evergreen delicately baubled and ribboned to perfection in front of City Hall. Light snow dusted everything in sight, and a few flurries teased their way down from dark skies where they would land perfectly on eyelashes and pink noses.

The scene invoked a longing within Newt that he couldn’t quite place—despite the picture-perfect setting, something was missing.

And it was _not_ the manky pair of ice skates Brenda tried to shove at him.

“I can’t ice-skate, Brenda, and I’ll not try it during Christmas, I can promise you that.”

“But _why_?”

“Simple. How many movies have ice-skating as either the way the couple met or the entire premise?” Newt asked as patiently as he could manage.

“I can think of four without trying.”

“Exactly. Therefore, it is a risk and is, as such, against the rules.”

A loud groan kept the conversation from going any further and heralded the arrival of Frypan, Ben, Alby, Harriet, and Sonya.

“Tell me we aren’t going over the Rules,” Sonya said. “I’m actually begging.”

“Your brother won’t go ice skating with us,” Brenda explained. “I’m trying to fix that.”

“Just give up, man. He won’t do it. He also won’t take a sleigh ride.”

“Or make snow angels,” Harriet added.

“Or compete in the snowman competition even though he would _win_ and the whole damn town knows it,” added Alby.

“Or order any hot drinks from any stalls during the festivals,” said Frypan.

“And, the biggest rule of all—” Minho began, only to have everyone except Brenda chime in for the last,

“No exchanging of gifts.”

He felt the blush rise in his cheeks but met Brenda’s incredulous stare head-on.

“You don’t exchange gifts? On Christmas?” she asked.

“I do not, no. Not for anyone other than family, at any rate.”

There was once, ages ago, that he’d almost done it. The gift had been hastily wrapped and small, but no less genuine for it—it was the last act of a desperate child, because if he could prove that his best friend was his soulmate, surely his parents wouldn’t make him move?

But he’d been too late; Newt had taken so long to wrap the small gift that by the time he’d arrived at the house? They’d already gone, along with Newt’s chance to say goodbye.

Not that any of his friends knew that story—it remained locked away, along with the little gift, in a box somewhere, never to be seen again.

“Then how the fuck are you supposed to find your soulmate!”

Newt chuckled and reached out to clear some snow from the bench next to the rink entrance. “Brenda, I’m only 23. I think I might like to try having a serious boyfriend before I make the jump directly to a soulmate, yeah?”

“But—”

“Shhh,” Minho soothed. “Let him live. Anyway, what time is—”

A bunch of loud shrieking came from the rink, headed directly towards them.

It was with morbid curiosity that Newt saw the flailing limbs comes towards him, speeding down the way and propelled forward by each misguided lunge made by the skater who didn’t seem to realize that the best way to stop moving is just to let themselves fall.

“Nevermind. Found him.”

Newt didn’t have time for Minho’s statement not to make any sense because almost as soon as he finished speaking, the person skated right out of the rink and landed on Newt, bowling him over.

“Fuck! I’m so sorry, I’m—”

The man cut himself off, falling over again after trying to stand up and getting the toe-pick caught in grass and mud beneath the snow and falling all over again. Snow seeped into Newt’s trousers and down the neck of his jacket, and he _knew_ he should have stayed at home.

“Mate, you’ve got to stop moving. You’re only makin’ it worse—”

“Wait… Newt?” the man asked, and Newt stopped moving entirely. He did not know strangers, he went out of his way to not know strangers, and he _especially_ avoided knowing strangers during the month of December.

“Thomas, what the holy hell just happened?” Brenda asked from above them, but Newt stopped listening after she’d given name to the warm brown eyes and mole dotted skin that Newt had once thought he could never forget.

He’d just been landed on twice, yet only when he saw brown eyes turn honey with recognition did the breath feel punched from his lungs.

“Tommy?” he whispered, and the strength of his disbelief overpowered the feel of ice water melting in his clothes.

The man—Thomas—grinned, but before he could speak, large hands gripped him by the shoulders and plucked him off of Newt and stood him up properly. Another pair of hands lifted Newt and smacked snow off of him in a fruitless attempt to set him to rights, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the impossibility in front of him.

“Dude, you gonna stare at Newt all night, or are you gonna hug your cousin?” Brenda drawled.

The loss of his attention was a bigger shock than the few he’d suffered in the past few minutes, and even then, Newt couldn’t bring himself to look away. Thomas had grown into his limbs—and ears—and stood taller than Newt by a few inches. Except, wait, that was only with the skates on. Without them, would Newt be taller? Thomas was always the taller one when they were younger. Newt was such a shrimp if he was actually _taller_ now—

Loud laughter drew Newt’s eyes from the flexing of thighs and to where Brenda stood circled in Thomas’ arms, his limbs sturdy now with someone to hold on to.

What the fuck was going on.

A light tap against the underside of his chin alerted Newt to the fact that his mouth was open in the first place, and Newt glanced askance at Minho, who had mischief practically pouring out of him.

“Everyone remembers Thomas from when we were kids, right?” Minho said, gesturing from the large group of people to the duo of Thomas and Brenda now stood side by side, grinning at them all. “He was the one practically attached to Newt’s side. Moved to the big _city_ super suddenly?”

There was a bit of choking from someone at Minho’s emphasis on ‘city,’ but Newt was too enthralled with the bashful expression on Thomas’ face when his previous attachment to Newt was mentioned.

What the fuck was going on.

“Since his parents went on a Christmas vacation overseas this year, and Thomas had to stay back on the mainland because of _work,_ ” Brenda continued, also using that on emphasis on certain words. “He decided to come and pay a visit to his cousin in this _small town_ of ours. Everyone, say hi.”

What. The fuck. Was going on.

Everyone said hello, and all Newt could manage was a jerky wave, only distantly aware of the goings-on around him as the implications of everything finally started to seep in.

Newt stood there, struck dumb, while the group dragged Thomas back onto the ice to disastrous effect until only he and Minho were left behind.

“So,” Minho began. Dread coiled like springs in his stomach, eagerly awaiting the release of pressure so they might burst. “City boy? Check. Working for Christmas? Check. Ice skating incident meet-cute? Double-check.”

Newt clenched his jaw until his teeth ached with it, and the springs coiled even tighter.

What the fuck. Was going. On.

“Just out of curiosity, though,” Minho taunted even as he readied himself to take to the ice himself. “Where does ‘childhood crush’ fit into Hallmark bingo?”

_What the fuck was going on?_

The springs leaped from his stomach when Minho skated away, and Newt crashed to his knees in the snow.


End file.
